Let Them Eat Cake
by Bad Yellow
Summary: The hilariously miserable life of Craig Manning.
1. What Is and What Should Never Be

This story is rated R for drug use, sexuality, and strong language.  
  
Notes: FYI, we don't own Degrassi. This fic was co-written by KT and Aubrey (also known as KT the Shimmer Skank and keeponwritin, respectively). We also send love to Amy (love-fool), whose imput, suggestions, and witty dialogue are a great help to the making of this fic. This is an experimental venture into the world of dark comedy, and we hope it is as delicious to read as it was to write.  
  
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"CRAIG!" her shrill voice screamed. I was sprawled across my olive green sheets in only my boxers. I took a deep breath, the first and heaviest breath of the day, and slowly opened one eye. I saw Manny hovering over me, hands on hips, lips pursed, and eyes worn down by impatience. Funny how she still looked cute, standing there pouting with the early morning light through the window outlining the curves of her body. It was an annoying kind of cute, though. An allure that screamed, "Fuck me, please, and then let me ruin your life." I rolled over and groaned.  
  
"If you don't get your ASS out of bed right now, I'm going to be late for school!" Manny sighed and started picking up dirty laundry from my bedroom floor. "CRAIG!" She began pelting me with articles of clothing that hadn't been washed since God knows when. "GET UP! CRAAAAAAAIG!"  
  
With what seemed to be every ounce of strength I had in the world, I slowly rolled out of bed. I blinked once or twice to bring the world into focus before yawning and scanning over the floor. I located a pair of pants and a t-shirt that didn't look too badly soiled and lazily slid into them.  
  
"Okay, okay," I said scratchily. "Let's go."  
  
Manny's disposition immediately shifted to sticky-sweet as she stood on her toes and placed a kiss on my cheek. "All right, sweetie. Thanks again for the ride."  
  
I watched the bounce of her ass as she skipped out of the room and sighed. There's nothing like starting your day with the one you love. Or something like that.  
  
Sully was standing in the hall-way, his silken red "Mac Daddy"-print boxers gleaming in the sunlight. His fake blonde highlights stood completely vertical as he grimaced at me with the kind of face that says, "I've been out drinking and banging all night and it's way too early."  
  
"Good morning, Sully!" Manny chirped with that fantastically subtle bitchiness of hers. "You look totally scrumptious today." She reached forward and touseled his hair, a huge no-no with him, and I wouldn't have been surprised if he threw a punch right then.  
  
"Thanks, Manuella. You look slut-tastic as always." He pointed at me and glared. "You know, none of MY lays have ever disturbed your sleep, Craig. I feel the hurt, man. Ouch." He yawned and went back into his bedroom.  
  
Manny muttered a barrage of insults about Sully under her breath as we left the apartment and got into my car, but I wasn't listening. Manny speaking is like traffic noise or politicians; it's just something you learn to tune out.  
  
I cranked the stereo to maximum volume, which I know Manny hates, and let the heroin-soaked melodies of Stone Temple Pilots pulse in every corner of my piece of shit car. It was Joey's parting gift to me when I moved out. It's funny how sometimes when you're driving with the stereo up loud, you feel separated from everything else. You don't feel anything but the movement and the music and it gives you the opportunity to see the bigger picture.  
  
I was nineteen years old, driving a two-tone, rusting Kia that had four previous owners, with nothing but sixty cents in my pocket and a back tooth that was rotting out of my mouth, working twenty lousy hours a week at the Kum N Go on Fulster Street, and still fooling around with the same hopeless bimbo I'd lost my virginity to in the tenth grade. With a heart-wrenching blow and a heavy sigh, I realized there was no bigger fucking picture.  
  
I pulled up in front of my alma mater, Degrassi Community School, house of a thousand pains, a place I would avoid like the plague if not for driving Manny there daily. Life became so completely covered in shit, that digging through it to find the pleasant memories just took this energy I did not have, and effort I could not give. The music still blared from the speakers, and Manny noticeably sunk in her seat. As if she had some big reputation to uphold.  
  
"Um, bye, sweetie," she said quickly, her words clumping together. For a brief second, she flashed me a smile, then grabbed her backpack and headed out and up the stairs. Manny's so cute when she's pretending our relationship is not completely fucked up. Our relationship progressed from up to down to I love you to I hate you to why the hell am I still with you to this, beautiful neutrality.  
  
Manny was good for two things: sex, and companionship. In all truth, I didn't want her as a friend. Friends suck. I am forced to listen to her complaining and whining enough as is. I'd rather she sit next to me while I stare at the walls and feel the tiniest bit of hope that maybe I didn't fuck up everything.  
  
More importantly, she's there when my self-esteem hits rock bottom, and everything becomes so crystal clear and I see myself for the miserable fuck that I am--which happens about daily--and I could just taste the endorphins running through me, and for a few seconds, I don't just push it to the back of my mind, I just completely forget about everything. And that was what Manny provided. My method of coping. Sex was my refuge. Jesus fuck, that's pathetic.  
  
I only really realized this whole sort-of-needing-Manny-to-stay-sane' thing about a month ago. That's why I can't let us fight, because if we fight, we break up again, and if we break up, I can't stop thinking about self-pity and hellaciousness, and I'm fairly certain I'll sink slowly into several (more) neuroses.  
  
I don't actually care how our relationship works out, only that I stay sane in the process. Hm. Guess that kinda makes me a selfish bastard. Not that I care. At all.  
  
Because I failed to provide a tiny but slightly-important detail: besides beyond my method to sanity, Manny also had a knack for being my means of delirium. On the rare occasion that I couldn't tune Manny out, her bitching and moaning were like instant death to my brain cells. She gets under my skin and takes over my life and she's everything I don't want and all I really want to do is escape her. But then she goes away and I remember how fucking hopeless my life is, so I run to her for comfort sex and suddenly I'm stuck in the cycle again. Manny is the disease and she is the cure.  
  
On my way back home I stopped at the Kum N Go to buy gas and an orange Slurpie for breakfast. Practically all of my meals come from the Kum N Go, because I am dirt poor and the 30% employee discount makes all the difference in the world. I can't afford to see a dentist or buy a new muffler or god forbid take a class or two at the community college, but I can always come up with the money to treat myself to aritificial colors and flavors at any time.  
  
With unpleasant clunkety-kachug-poof noises the whole way, I drove back to the Paradise Suites apartment complex, which is the exact opposite of what its name implies. I sluggishly trudged up the creaking stairs and stuck my key into the lock that always jammed and entered the palace of dirty laundry, fast food wrappers, flea market furniture, and marijuana scent that I called home. Bright morning light attempted to break through the grimey glass windows. The apartment was quiet except for the dull and slightly irregular buzz of the refridgerator.  
  
As I flopped onto the couch and sucked icy orange goo through a plastic straw, Sully emerged from his bedroom. He had showered and dressed and was looking as much like an oily rich boy as ever. He was in a much better mood than when I'd run into him earlier that morning. He was whistling an Usher song.  
  
"Where the hell are you going this early?" I asked him as he sauntered into the living room.  
  
He sat down on the arm chair to the left of the couch and started pulling on his socks. "I've got a Calc class at nine," he informed me.  
  
I took a slow slurp of my drink and gaped at him. "You're actually going to go to class? A class at nine o'clock in the morning?" This was a remarkable event to say the least. Sully rarely got his ass out of bed before noon, and to actually participate in the forty thousand dollar education his parents were buying for him was something he didn't generally deem worthy of his time. Sully was a clever strategist. Rather than go through the trouble of earning his degree, he went through two times the trouble to find ways around it. Banging smart girls, paying computer geeks for answers, going on speed binges to cram... whatever it took, Sully would find a way.  
  
He shrugged as he stood up to find his shoes. "Well, I mean, I'm already awake, thanks to your wonderful girlfriend. I've got nothing better to do. I might as well. Besides, there's this chick Janie in that class with a great rack."  
  
That Sully. He always had his priorities straight. Not that I was one to talk. I sank deeper into the couch and drank my Slurpie. Sully sat back down a few minutes later a mirror and razor in hand. As was his daily custom, he used the thin piece of glittering metal to cut a short clean line of the finest cocaine. He retrieved a rolled green bill from his pocket and placed it to his nose. He brought his face to the mirror, which I realized with some disgust might have been Manny's at one point in time, and with one swift movement had snorted the entire line. He lifted his head with a grin as innocent as sunshine and chocolate icecream, as if he'd simply been taking his daily Flintstone vitamin. He returned his assorted coke paraphernalia to its proper place in the kitchen, grabbed his keys off the hook, and left the apartment with a cheerful adieu.  
  
In all honesty, Donald O'Sullivan is a truly remarkable human being. He managed to ace his entire first semester of college without going to class more than four times. He can walk into a room full of people and within two minutes pinpoint exactly which girl he'll be banging in a few hours, and believe me, he always gets it right. He got a girl five years younger than him knocked up and not only paid for the abortion, but smooth talked the parents with such expertise that _they _were apologizing to _him _for their daughter's inexcusable behavior and inviting him to eat Sunday dinner with them. He plays golf once a month with the chief of police and his son. The mother fucker snorts coke through a hundred dollar bill and doesn't even blink. With the kind of money his parents dish out to him each month, he could easily live someplace better than this dump with me. But no, Sully chooses to live economically so that he can spend his money on more important things like drugs, bribes, and impressing girls. He's a selfish, lazy, two-faced, womanizing cokehead son of a bitch and the funny thing is, I have no doubts whatsoever that he will be a healthy, successful, well-adjusted member of society.  
  
I, on the other hand, am destined to be a prisoner of Paradise Suites for all eternity, with no greater joys in life than getting laid by a chick I can't stand being around and being the employee of the month at the Kum N Go. Ah, who the fuck was I kidding? I would never be employee of the month.  
  
I sucked dry the last heavenly drops of orange Slurpie before tossing the cardboard cup from the couch towards the trash can in the kitchen. I missed. I grabbed the purple afghan that was beginning to reek uncontrollably of pot and frozen burritoes from the corner of the couch and wrapped myself up in it. I turned on the TV and fell asleep watching an Elmer Fudd cartoon not long after.  
  
I woke up around four o'clock, the waking hour of stoners and nightshift factory workers all across the country, and proceeded to take a dump while finishing up a Rolling Stone article about Modest Mouse. I took a shower, re-dressed myself in the same dirty clothes, and made myself an omlette that tasted like dish soap. I spent twenty entire minutes attempting to land wadded up pieces of napkin into an empty beer can with the fork I was using as a catapult. My life, you see, is built upon the utmost effiency.  
  
In fact, the whole transition from semi-popular band frontman to infamously pathetic slacker pothead has been surprisingly seamless. I barely noticed that my life was spiraling down the drain. A small favor, I thought, from whatever forces have chosen to fuck up my life.  
  
Before I drifted off to sleep again, I realized, with much lack of concern, that my work shift began in approximately negative four minutes. I did my customary work sucks groan, and picked myself up as quickly as I felt necessary--which wasn't very. I shuffled across the floor, kicking trash and old magazines out of my way. I walked to the couch, where I knew I had left my keys earlier. When I didn't find them there, I groaned again and did an entirely-unthorough thirty-second search of the few feet I'd moved around in the past six hours. Nothing. The whole just give up mentality I'd grown so fond of was ringing in my ears, but my need for money was greater. I hesitated before digging my hand into the depths of the sofa. It hadn't been cleaned since we bought it, and seeing as how the woman we bought it from was wheelchair-bound and completely senile, I don't think she cleaned it before selling it, either. I ignored the urge to do some serious upchucking when my hand hit a mass of god-knows-whose hair. When I dug in deeper, my hand felt something rubbery. I brought my hand back up, with a used condom pinched between my fingers. Okay, NOT mine. Manny complained before we ever got that far on the couch. I threw it over my shoulder and dug in again. After a few seconds, I finally found the keys, and just as I was about to think maybe this day had some hope of being mediocre and run out the door, I peered down at the sticky orange substance that had glued my fingers to my keys, and my car key to my house key. I was already a good fifteen minutes late, so without wasting any time, I tried to rub it off onto the bottom of my shirt and sauntered out the door.  
  
Not without the much abuse of my fingertips, I'd managed to quickly separate the keys and jam the key in the ignition, melted orange Slurpie and all. I sighed, relieved, when the car started up in less than six tries.  
  
When I arrived there in a few minutes, she was already standing there, in the back of the store, waiting for me, trying to look pissed when I knew she was internally celebrating another Craig fuck-up that allowed her to get out all that pent-up rage I knew she was storing from a verbally abusive husband, or something like that. I'd like to see how she managed before she employed me as her whipping boy.  
  
she said witheringly, look at the clock. I looked at the clock on the wall, not bothering to actually read the time. Instead I stared at the bold numbers, and then at the second hand. We're running a business here, and if you can't be on time, maybe I'll have to... It must suck to be the second hand. I mean, you're this thin, barely noticeable twig. And you do all this revolving, and ticking at each little dash for just a second, and then you move on. And for what? To control the minutes, which control the hours. You put in all this labor so the bigger, bolder, more noticeable hands can move a hundred times slower than you, and what do you get out of it? Nothing. When's the last time you heard someone say the seconds when telling the time? No one cares. You're a second hand. You're worthless.  
  
I must've looked convincingly apologetic as I stared at the clock, because when I snapped back to consciousness, my apron was in my hand, and at least three minutes had passed by. I threw it over my head carelessly and headed out to the store area. At the cash register stood some guy, apparently a fellow employee, but I wouldn't have any idea. I watched as he kept glancing down at his watch impatiently. As I stepped into the small box, he looked up at me and grunted before exiting.  
  
Thus, my shift began. People trickled in, and I did my best to feign even the slightest appreciation for having customers, despite the fact that they were providing me my paycheck. It was always great to pretend to be cheerful when even the customers just wanted you to hand them their change and their junk food and leave as quickly as possible. People understood that there was no way I was actually happy. I was working in a convenience store. It's just a fact of life: no one who's happy ever works at fast food restaurants, amusement parks, or convenience stores. Yet I'm still forced to look less than miserable. Go effing figure.  
  
Around nine o'clock, even the trickle had died down to about, one person every HOUR. I just sat there on this broken wooden stool, and I checked the clock every minute and I think there was a nail sticking into my ass but it (and I) was too numb for me to care. It was mind-numbingly silent and still, the kind of silence that pisses you off. I was pissed off. But then I almost fell asleep. It's hard to be pissed when you're tired.  
  
Finally, the last god-forsaken customer left around 11:45, and this bubbly, energetic college-aged girl came in at midnight to take the next shift, smiling like there was something to be happy about. I think she was employee of the month.  
  
I pulled into Paradise Suites' parking lot and didn't bother to lock my car, knowing full well that no one in their right mind would take this thing. It would probably blow up in their face if they even tried.  
  
I dragged myself up the stairs and pulled out the sticky keys, getting aggravated after a few unsuccessful tries and almost getting the key stuck in the lock. Finally, with much frustration, I turned the key and pushed against the door hard, throwing myself into the room.  
  
My eyes immediately landed on the television, the screen full of half-naked cheerleaders writhing on BMWs and Lamborghinis, covered in soap suds. I then noticed Sully, lounging back on the couch with his one arm resting on the back of the couch, and ignoring my entrance. Then, further away, in the lounge chair, was Manny. Sitting studiously and flipping through a textbook, her eyes squinting in confusion. Like she did this every night in that same chair. Manny was always gone by this time. Always.  
  
I said, more for an immediate explanation than to announce my presence. Manny took it to be the latter.  
  
Hey, sweetie, she said, throwing her textbook down into the chair and skipping over to me, still standing by the door. She smiled and pulled my head down to meet her lips in a small kiss. I still just stared, waiting for the explanation. How was work? she asked instead.  
  
Um, work was...work. Loud moans started coming from the TV, killing the mood I was trying to set up here. I said finally, what are you doing here? That sort of thing would offend most girls. Manny wasn't most girls. Not that that made her any more endearing. She paused for a second with seriousness all over her face, while she stared at the floor. Suddenly, she sucked in a breath and smiled up at me again.  
  
I've decided to move in with you.  
  
She presented the words to me like they were a present. Like I was so lucky to get to put up with Manny's shit 24/7 now. "Um, no," I said tiredly. It's funny because I really meant for it to come out as a reasonable, gentle decline. But somehow my mind didn't find the effort.  
  
She laughed and touched my face. "Don't be silly, Craig. This is going to be great! We'll be just like a real couple."  
  
Now I knew for sure she was out of her fucking mind. Manny and I would _never _be like a real couple, even if we got married and had babies and drove an SUV. God forbid that should ever happen. "Um, Manny... no." That was all there was to it. No. No way. A stampede of rabid hyenas couldn't make me change my mind.  
  
She pouted. "Craig, I have to stay here, okay? My mom and I got in a fight and I've got nowhere else to stay. I mean, I thought you were ready for this stage in our relationship, but if you're not, maybe we should just... cool things down for awhile."  
  
I was about to agree to this without any complaints. Cool down? Hell yes. She was started to get on my nerves anyway, being around all the time. But then I caught her drift. She was threatening to cut me off. I was dumbstruck. But looking at her, I knew she totally wasn't kidding. Manny might give off the slutty bimbo vibe, but underneath it all she's still a clever, manipulative bitch and she knew exactly where my weak spot was.  
  
So that was my option. Let Manny live with me, get unlimited sex. Tell Manny there was no way I could stand living with her, lose sex all together.  
  
I sighed. "Yeah, this will be great," I told her. "Just awesome."  
  
With a satisfied squeal, she pranced back to her seat and continued with her homework. I rubbed my tired eyes. Ladies and gentleman, I present to you the shit-icing on my shit-cake.


	2. The Rain Song

Author's Note: People of the world, we ask you not to be fooled by imitations. This is the original StonerSkankyCraigfic and we are proud of that. We don't appreciate people ripping off our ideas and making them suck times ten. (You know who you are.) Thank you for your time. Enjoy.

My eyes widened. The room was dark gray. The clock on my bedside table said 1:36. The sun was faintly shining through the small shade-less window. My mind felt like dead weight. I yawned and laid my head back down contemplatively. The only days I seem to wake up early anymore are days that I don't need to wake up early on. My life was sort of predictably ironic like that. Which I think means it's no longer ironic. But I don't really give enough of a fuck to find out.

I was cold, I suddenly realized. This was the end of April, and I was cold. Someone had turned the fan on, I noticed first, and directed it so it was hitting my back full-on. And on high, no less. The sheets I'd remembered were covering me were nowhere on me. I reached behind my back and pulled them back over me. This was all her doing. I had no doubts. Already she was jabbing little holes in my comfortable hell.

I rolled over onto my back, spread out across my twin-sized bed, with the mattress I couldn't afford to replace and the stained sheets I never felt like washing. While I half-expected her to be lying next to me when I awoke, I half-prayed last night was a sick nightmare, a product of my sheer boredom and too much pot in general. I reached beneath my back after feeling something there, and pulled out a lacy, frilly, baby-pink bra. I groaned and let my head fall on the pillow again. Apparently... this was reality.

"SWEETIE, GET UP!!" Manny yelled from across the apartment. "CRAAAIG!"

Always. Her voice was inescapable. In my dreams and my nightmares, and when I woke up, it rang in my ears until my ears bled and I'd torn out my hair in madness. Actually, this is what I wished would happen. Instead, I just got pissed off, piled up all my anger and with each night's banging came each night's forgiveness. It was a beautiful and demented formula, but it worked for me. That's all I really cared about.

I sat myself up and my eyelid began twitching. I picked up the shirt lying next to the bed and threw it over my head. Birds were chirping outside my window, and I desperately wished they would shut up. I think Manny was calling for me again, but I stopped caring, as was custom with most things in my life.

I dragged myself, out of my bed and through my doorway, barely in the room when I heard low moaning noises. For a split second, I was convinced Sully had bought another one of those cliche-ridden porns where everyone makes animalistic moaning sounds, as watching porn and doing coke were his two favorite at-home activities no matter what time of day, but I saw otherwise. On the couch was Sully, but with his hand up the shirt of some girl, groping at her huge chest while their mouths engulfed each other. Having seen worse before, I continued on my trek to the kitchen, but Sully's voice stopped me.

"Your slut's making breakfast," he said blankly, having not bothered to remove his hand from underneath the girl's shirt before addressing me. I nodded tiredly and suppressed a yawn, continuing towards the kitchen. I almost wish I cared that he'd just called her my slut. Almost. "Tell her the Lucky Charms are mine!"

When I entered the kitchen, Manny was standing there in front of the stove, and something smelled like sour milk. She turned around and noticed me and suddenly brightened up.

"Craig, sweetie! I'm so glad you're up," she said, bouncing over to me. She hugged me with a spatula still in hand. "I'm making you some French toast." I decided to let her have her moment and not mention that I hate French toast.

"Um, great, thanks." I sat down and checked out the actual time from the microwave clock. 9:09. It's way too early to have to put up with Manny. All I really wanted was a bowl of cereal. Why couldn't she just make me a bowl of cereal. Why did she have to take the hard road out. Why do things have to be so difficult. God, it's too early.

"I was hoping we could... talk." Too early to talk. Too early to think. Go away. Don't want you here. She sighed, and took the seat next to me. "Craig." She tried to get me to make eye contact. I stared at the peeling wallpaper instead. "I'm... so grateful that... you're letting me stay here. And I want you to know that, if you ever need a favor or anything, you can always ask me, because if it weren't for you..." She smiled sheepishly. "I could be stuck with no place to go right now." It was too early for subtlety. I asked with my eyes were the point was, once I finally brought my attention to her. "I just have one more favor to ask of you, then I swear, anything you want." My attention almost went back to the wallpaper, but she interrupted the flow. "Craig, prom is coming up in a couple weeks..." It took me a second or two--it was early, after all--but I piece it all together pretty quickly that Manny was trying to sucker me into going to prom with her. My response was even quicker.

"Manny, no."

"Craig, at least hear me out," she pleaded. "This is my last chance to go to a prom--ever!" Was that supposed to be a good reason, I almost asked. "All of my friends are going, and they all have dates." What friends, I almost asked. "I don't want to be the only single one there, and I can't just... not go." Why not, I almost asked.

"No."

"Sweetie, it's one night," she said, laughing softly. "I won't even make you get that dressed up, and all you have to pay for is the ticket." I stared intently at the wallpaper. It was a hell of a lot more interesting than anything going on right now. I smelled smoke. The low moans from the couch could now be heard in the kitchen. "Craig," she whined. "Please."

"Manny, your French toast is burning." Her head immediately perked up and she smelled the smoke too, and she jumped up and turned the heat back down to 0 as quickly as possible. She tried using the spatula, still in her hand, to scrape off the bread that most of the smoke was coming from. She looked at me with puppy dog eyes, like she had planned to burn my breakfast to win this argument. Like, 'aww, poor Manny, she's effing CLUELESS. Guess I have to take her to prom now.'

"I-I'll make you something else. Do you want pancakes, or... or waffles, or an omelette, or..."

"Manny." She brought her attention back to me and stared. "I am not going to your stupid prom, and nothing you could ever say could ever convince me to go." She stared at me for a few more seconds, before she put her head down and bit her lip. Aw, fuck. And now she's crying. If I had felt some semblance of guilt, I might actually have done something about it, but I was too used to this whining to care. I was still weak, though. A few more sniffles to break the silence and I'd give in. I was not yet completely heartless, but my "sympathy" for Manny was more like pity, for staying with me and putting so much effort into making this work, when clearly there was no real relationship to work with in the first place. I'd known her for years, and I still had yet to find out what was going on in her mind, what sick dementia made her believe everything she did. Therein lay one similarity I'd found between us, a distaste for reality. Only, she coated everything in sugar, and I dealt with it like the bitch that it was.

"Craig," she whined in that cringe-worthy pity-begging voice. She let out an unsteady sigh and hesitated. "I thought about it, and... and I could go alone." She stared forlornly down at the kitchen floor. "But, if you were there... with me..." She looked back up at me with her teary eyes and a small smile played on her lips. "It would be... really special. For me. You know?" She wiped her tears with her hand and looked at me expectantly. I stared blankly, with wide eyes. Was I supposed to know? I could always try, but trying to get into the mindset of a desperate fuck like Manny was a pointless endeavor. As was trying to deny Manny her right to have a date at prom. Prom was at least a couple weeks away, and the nagging would be unbearable. It wasn't until I was thinking things like "how bad could it be" that I realized I had to step up for once. Manny could manipulate me into doing a lot of things, but wasting valuable slurpie money was not one of them. I shook my head at her.

"No," I said simply, firmly, with the brilliant kind of defiance that could start a revolution, and I knew she would either explode in pent-up rage or cry me a river, and I sat steadfast and unwavering, awaiting preparedly for either. She sucked in a breath and bit her lower lip, and the bitterness went straight to her eyes, and with an ounce of fear in my stomach, in my mind I watched her storm out, never to return again, and I saw myself later rummaging through Sully's porn tape stash and pitifully reacquainting myself with my own right hand. I was nearing regret and withdrawal of my bold refusal when a word came from her mouth.

"Fine." My eyes widened and I had to stop myself from saying, 'Really?' because it made no sense. The only thing I could think of was that this was some advanced reverse psychology, and then I remembered this was Manny we were talking about. So it had to be the truth. She turned her back to me and went busying herself around the kitchen, looking like she was making the second breakfast. I grabbed an untoasted Pop-Tart off the counter when she wasn't looking and headed back into the living room.

Still confused by her response, I flopped down in the chair and flipped on the TV, ignoring the hushed conversation Sully and the chick appeared to be having. I vaguely heard a small pouting noise.

"No worries, my sex kitten," he said. I flipped to the cartoons and Sully snapped his fingers at me. This was the internationally-recognized sign for 'get lost, you're ruining my chances to get some' that lost its rude value to me ages ago, but still bothered me at inconvenient times. "Craig?" he said as if he believed I truly hadn't heard him. I imagined he was looking at me expectantly but my eyes were intently focused on Tom and Jerry. Oh, that Tomcat.

"Ohmigawwwd," the girl drawled out, and that made me turn my head faster than Sully's incessant snapping ever could. I stared blankly while her mouth gaped open. "I know you!" I blinked. "You work at the Kum n Go, riiight?" I blinked again. I was actually hoping for once that Sully would be annoying, and would butt in and whisk her away to his bedroom that saw so little of him these days. Believe it or not, I really didn't want to lose the few IQ points I'd left myself after I flushed my high school education down the drain with pot and too much time spent around Manny. And in all honest-to-god truth, I didn't feel like talking to anyone today.

"Yeah. That's me." My head swiveled back to look at the TV. The words had a caustic and bitter tone about them, but I knew well enough she wouldn't notice.

"That is sooo cool!" And while the word was "cool," in my mind I saw it--K-E-W-L. I suppressed the urge to vomit. "I toootally go there all the time! It is like, my favorite convenience store ever. I mean, usually, when I go there, there's like, this blonde girl who is way friendly and I just get gas and whatever, but I sooo remember you!" She gasped a little. "I remember now! I bought... a diet cherry Pepsi! And umm... some Winterfresh... and umm." She paused, then gasped even louder. "Combos! Pizza Combos! Omigawwd, I sooo love Combos!" You had to hand it to Sully. The way I see it, if I were single and some hung-over morning I found myself being barraged by this sort of idiocy, I'd find the quickest and most efficient way to ditch her and make sure I never saw her again. Sully, on the other hand, dealt with it. And for what? All for sex. "Whoever came up with Combos was sooo smart." And somehow, a second later, I was feeling the unfamiliar feeling of guilt. It was somewhat of a wasted emotion on me, and I never felt it willingly. It always just snuck up on me and caught me offguard, and then it dragged me down. And now I was guilty for having turned Manny down, and I blame Sully fully and completely. Sully put up with this chick for sex, and I couldn't even put up with Manny and one stupid prom? It was one night, one single night of pretending to be normal to appease her.

"I'll... I'll be right back," I said, with no intentions of returning. I picked myself up and walked quickly back to the kitchen. "Fine, I'll go!" I yelled, the volume louder than necessary. I said it like the past fifteen minutes were completely staged by Manny to snap me in half and feel the guilt she'd half-assedly tried to get out of me earlier. She turned around from sticking a couple slices of bread in the toaster and looked bewildered, like this topic was over with, gone, and yesterday's news already. "I'll... go to the prom," I spit out the words before my brain could process it and wave the red fucking flag that would tell me this was a bad idea. She looked hesitant, then suddenly broke out into the huge smile that signified more pain and suffering for me. Because Manny's happiness equaled my misery. The more sacrifices I made, the happier she became, and the happier she became, the more I felt like shit. And the more I felt like shit, it seemed, the more she wanted from me.

She bounced over to me and hugged me, and I didn't bother to hug back. She didn't really seem to notice or care. She placed a kiss on my cheek and hurriedly went back to being Suzy Homemaker with a whole new fervor. Now that I was a good boyfriend again, I REALLY deserved that breakfast. That breakfast that I didn't even want to eat because it was too early for real food and because Manny can't cook for shit.

Thus began another wasted day in my life. But this day was different, you see, because it was a Saturday. And for some reason, because of whatever nutty psychological trick society had drilled into me, it didn't feel bad at all to waste a Saturday. It almost felt required.

I choked down the burnt toast and bacon Manny had so lovingly prepared for me, and while she was washing dishes, quickly scraped the remains of it into the trash and pretended to be finished. I smoked a joint and watched Unsolved Mysteries while tuning out the sucking noises of Sully and Fuckface Girl until at last they disappeared into the depths of Sully's bedroom. I nodded off for an hour or so and dreamed of Robert Plant and mutant French toast, until Manny wandered in complaining about how it was going to rain. She popped popcorn and stuck Requiem for a Dream into the VCR. She curled up next to me on the couch and we watched a strung out Jared Leto in the dimly-lit living room that only grew darker as the rain clouds outside grew heavier.

The movie had not yet ended when five o'clock rolled around. Manny had fallen asleep, and I had to carefully slide out from under her so I could throw on some clothes and make it to work close-to-on-time. As I drove to work, slightly pissed off that my Zeppelin CD kept skipping, the gray clouds above grumbled angrily and I could tell the storm would cause me to be in for a slow night at the store. Great. As if work wasn't dull enough already.

I relieved Carlos, a neurotic smoker whose eyes looked ready to bulge right out of his head. He scowled angrily at me, the snot-nosed kid who'd made him all of five minutes late on his meticulous cigarette schedule, and muttered something in Spanish under his breath as he left his station. I was unfazed, of course, as people hating me is so beyond old news. I slid on my apron, the loathed mark of slavery, and settled into position at the check-out counter. I exhaled with disdain and prepared myself for the next shitty six hours that awaited me.

Though thunder and lightning crashed like a bad catfight outside, and rain pounded against the huge glass windows of the Kum N Go, I could still hear the tick of the clock above all things. The twitch of the second hand rang in my ears, and as I lowered my chin to the sticky plastic counter, I realized I'd never been so fucking bored in my entire life. And of course, all the while I was thinking about my car, and how my window never quite rolls all the way up, and how my seat was going to be fucking soaked by the time I got off work. And on top of that there was the thought of Manny, who was going to like, BE THERE when I got home, and consequently BE THERE the next morning when I woke up, and most likely BE THERE for all FUCKING eternity because God hates me.

But then the bell on the front door rang, and suddenly it was easy to forgive God for everything.

Legs. My line of vision was filled completely with nothing but dripping wet stems of flesh that disappeared into the secretive cavern of a short acid-green skirt. Her heavy black combat boots squeaked as they sauntered across the faded linoleum. Icy beads of water rolled down her unzipped, transparent plastic raincoat, through which I could see a faded purple Black Sabbath t-shirt and her bra, or obvious lack thereof. Her curves moved slow and smooth as she walked towards the counter.

And suddenly the most unbelievable thing happened, and she wasn't wearing any clothes at all. She was dripping and naked and wrapped around me. She giggled as she screamed my name and wrapped her fingers through my hair. I slammed her into the chip aisle as I nailed her, knocking the over-priced Cheeze Kaboozles to the ground in an avalanche. I held her close and chewed on her neck, her tits pressed so hard against me it hurt. She licked my ear and talked dirty in German and begged me never to stop. We were a rock ballad of sweat and sex and rain, and after the mind-blowing sex, we ran out to my sleek black BMW and drove until we reached Mexico, and spent the rest of our lives stoned on a beach in Acapulco.

Except, no, that's all bull shit and in reality I was still Craig the loser, standing there half-stoned, half-erect, and one hundred percent hopeless. And, worst of all, the girl standing in front of the counter was still fully-dressed.

"Um, excuse me?" she asked with a polite smile, leaning against the greasy countertop..

I brought myself out of my daze and found myself staring right at a pair of big brown questioning eyes. Dark eyes, but a warm smile. Soft skin framed by crinkled auburn tresses. I was no match for her. "Yeah," I said. "Hey."

She raised her eyebrow at me, and I really wanted to show her that this greasy, red-eyed, dirty, pot-scented dumb fuck was not who I was all the time. I mean, there were those moments when I smelled all right and my hair looked good. But I lacked the brain capacity to do anything more than simply keeping myself from drooling. I coughed loudly.

She slid a wet strand of dark crimson hair out of her face and pursed her lips as she thought of what to say. "Your pay phone's like, really fucked up. And... I've kind of got an emergency here."

I nodded my head somewhat stupidly. That's nice, I thought. Wanna bang?

"So... would it be all right if I used your phone?" She tapped her pink-painted fingernails lightly on the counter, and I might have been imagining it, but I could have sworn she was drumming Black Dog.

I grinned idiotically but it quickly receded as I tried to hide my bad tooth. I reached behind me and shoved aside the empty Slurpie containers and other miscellaneous crap that cluttered my work station as I fumbled for the phone that was supposedly for business-only use. I picked up a plastic Slurpie lid and tried to scrape off some of the gooey pink bubble gum my dumbfuck co-worker Shena had gotten all over the receiver. I wiped it off on my flanel shirt quickly and passed it to Legs like it was the Olympic fucking torch.

She accepted my gift with a playfully sarcastic glance. She leaned closer to the counter as she reached over to dial the number, and she smelled so heavily of rain and pancakes. The curves of her ripe neck dipping out into her broad shoulders begged me to place a kiss there in that cozy corner of skin, and taste all the places she had been.

Then she turned around, the coiled gray telephone cord wrapping around her, and left me staring only at the clasps of her beaded necklaces.

"Dinah?" she chirped charmingly to the voice on the other end of the phone. "Hey babe. Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm stuck at the Kum N Go on Union Street." Apparently the person on the other end said something very funny, because Legs tossed her head back in a gentle, tantalizing laugh the echoed through the lonely white walls of Kum N Go. "Okay, so, do you think you can pick me up? Excellent. Haha, okay. Tell Sascha to keep his pants on. Love you guys. Later."

She turned back around to face me, handing me the receiver which I placed back into the cradle and carelessly returned to its proper place on the shelf o' shit.

"Muchos gracias, uh, Crarg," she said as she reached out and grabbed the red plastic name tag on my apron. "I owe you one." She gave me a slight wave and turned around to leave, wrapping the corners of her rain coat around her.

"It's um, it's Craig, actually," I managed to say. She looked over her shoulder, still walking away, and giggled soundlessly with a nod of comprehension. "Yeah. Um. Typo. You know."

But her attention was already more than finished with the likes of me. I shoved my hands in my pockets as she sauntered away, her perfect ass swinging from side to side and her black shoes squeaking the same way they'd entered. Her footsteps led her further and further away from me until she was out the door with another ring of the bell, on her way to meet Sascha and Dinah for some fantastic Saturday evening full of the things that beautiful people do. Jazz music and cappucinos with chocolate sprinkles and really expensive weed and discussions of philosophy and every guy in the club hitting on her were probably waiting for her outside those glass doors.

All I had waiting for me was my depraved roommate, my reality-challenged teenage girlfriend, and a hatchback with a soggy driver's seat.


	3. Dazed and Confused

At eleven o'clock I tossed my dirty red apron to the back shelf and regarded my replacement with a mere nod. Rain was still cascading mercilessly onto lonely Union Street when I exited the Kum N Go. I sighed and it was so cold I saw my breath. I was startled to realize, as I looked out at the miserable rain, that I would almost rather still be working than have to go home. Home was a shithole. I just wasn't in the mood to be depressed.

To my left I noticed a pimply-faced ragamuffin kid, fifteen or so, bouncing his dreadlock-covered head to the music that was playing loudly through his headphones. He dumped the electric blue contents of a giant pixie stick into his mouth, dancing in oblivious defiance to the grimey "No Loitering" sign above his head. He looked over at me and grinned with his blue teeth.

"Hey, man," he said, motioning for me with his painted black fingernails.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and shuffled over to the wiry stranger. "Yo," I greeted.

He licked blue powder from his fingers while gazing me over with interest, until at last comprehension flickered in his bloodshot eyes. "I know you, don't I? You're Craig Manning, right?"

I nodded slowly and felt an unpleasant sensation in the pit of my stomach, remembering the delightful conversation I'd had with Sully's girl that morning. My sudden fame as the Kum N Go Guy was not something I dug.

"We went to school together, man," he continued. "Kwan's creative writing class?"

I searched my mind and tried to recall my first period class from grade twelve, which I rarely ever woke up early enough to attend, and even if was there, I definitely wasn't... well, there. All the same, I managed to vaguely recall this kid and those effing headphones he never took off. "Right, right," I said. "Brian?"

"Yeah, no, it's Eli. But whatever. How are you?"

"Well I just got off my shift at the Kum N Go so... yeah, shitty as hell. How about yourself?"

"I'm super." He tilted back the pixie stick and let the shimmering blue powder cascade into his mouth. "You wanna buy some pot?"

My ears perked with sudden interest, as years of relying on pot to quiet the mother fucking noise of my life has trained me to do, but I realized that with the start of a new month, meaning a new downpour of bills, I really didn't have money to spare on weed. "Um, no, I'm good, actually."

"Aw, come now, good sir. I can see in those weary eyes that you are indeed in need of a good toke. Come on, I'll give you a good deal, since we're old pals and everything."

I sighed and rubbed my eyes. Dear GOD I was tired. "Look, man, I don't need any pot. I just need to get home."

"You know, you are ABSOLUTELY right, my friend." He wiped the blue residue from his mouth his his sleeve, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small brown package. "A man of such notorious stonerdom deserves much more than that, and I apologize. THIS is what you need." He waved the package in front of my face.

"What the hell is it?" I asked. I reached for it, but he tugged it away.

"Only the most magnificent sample of X you will ever get your hands on. They manifacture this shit in like, Kenya or some shit, for some kind of religious ceremony. They say it takes them right to the pantheon of gods where they dance and reach eternal grace."

I gazed at the wrinkled package in his hand, somewhat curious, but mostly just too tired to deal with this weirdo. "Really?"

"I have no idea, actually. But my buddy Parker's all, 'Dude, this shit will fuck you up.' So what do you say, man? Feel like dancing with the gods?"

Now, the most obvious and sensible thing to do would be to walk away slowly and never look back. But I mean, this is me we're talking about. Logic is for high school graduates. I coughed over the fifty bucks that was supposed to help pay the electric and climbed into my soggy car, ready to share my findings with my beautiful family.

When I arrived back at the dump I call home, I was still clutching the little baggy in my pocket, drugs sitting pretty, just waiting to do the impossible, and make me forget that I really should just kill myself right now. I was getting antsy, and I probably would've selfishly popped the whole thing in my mouth as I was driving if I weren't so busy trying not to crash in the sopping shit-mobile with its wheels dangling off their axles. I was able to cool myself off a little after remembering that no matter how long the high lasted, when I woke up, she would still be there, and I'd still be face to face with hell personified, morning after morning after morning.

I trudged up to my apartment and shoved my key into the lock, but to no avail. I took it out and it looked crooked, so I bent it back into place, but when I jammed it into the key only to have it STICK there. Apparently my little issue with the lock did not go unnoticed inside, for a few seconds later, the door opens and it's Sully standing there, and for a second I actually thought about being somewhat generous and actually thanking him, 'cause it was uncharacteristically... un-assholeish of him, then all of a sudden he's saying, "Tell me your bitch isn't staying here permanently."

It was great to know the only reason I was let into my own home was to give an explanation for Manny's presence. I stepped in, wiped my muddy sneakers riddled with holes on and dripped all over the carpet. I noticed the muted softcore Cinemax porn on the TV before Manny, curled up against the side of the couch, grabbed the remote and started flipping through the channels. Sully was still standing there looking for an answer from me.

I sighed. "Yeah, I guess."

He started ranting and raving about the agreement we made (an agreement we never made), about how I could bang whoever I wanted, but this was just insane. "This isn't fucking 'Pretty Woman,' Craig. We don't take whores off the street and give them all the shit they want for abso-fucking-lutely nothing in return."

All the while, Manny was sitting a few feet away, resting her head against her palm, her elbow bent and resting on the couch arm, watching a rerun of "Friends." I assumed she was hearing this. If she was, I was impressed. Good tuning-Sully-out skills. They could come in handy. Often.

He stopped mid-rant and turned around, looking at the TV. "What the fuck? I hate David Schwimmer. Get that asshole off my TV." I'm thinking Fuckface Girl didn't put in the necessary hours to fulfill Sully's weekly banging quota. He grabbed the remote out of Manny's hand, flopped down on the couch next to her and changed the channel back to Cinemax, but the movie was over. She sighed and looked over at me, still standing in the doorway. Then she got up, as was customary, and hugged me as I stood awkwardly with my arms at my sides.

"Um, hi," I said. She stepped back and cocked her head at me and looked at me with the familiar look of unceasing dissatisfaction. "What?" She looked down at the floor like maybe the floor would understand what the hell she was saying. 'Cause I certainly wasn't. She sighed.

"Nothing," she said before returning to the couch, sitting the farthest point possible from Sully. I gave in and sat between them. I realized for a second that we were like a dysfunctional family at dinnertime: all disgruntled and hating each other, staring at the television because it gave us something to look at that was not each other. Realizing this, I felt a whole lot more comfortable living with Manny. I'd had this vision in my head that allowing her to live here was like some sort of commitment, or a sign (in her mind) that I loved her. But I'd been apart of dysfunctional families my entire life. I mean, my dad was a prick and I lived with him for fourteen years. So where the hell did I get the perception that living under the same roof as someone actually meant something?

I mean, not that this made living with Manny suck any less, but at least one piece of the burden was lifted.

The commercial came on before I realized I had no idea what we were watching.

"You know what we should do?" Manny got up, bouncing over to the closet near the kitchen. I watched out of the corner of my eye as she stood on her tip-toes and searched around the second shelf. I lost interest when a local pizza place commercial came on, but a few seconds later, she returned with a box in her hands. I read the side of it and stared blankly.

"Manny..."

"Pleeeeeease," she whined. "Craig, come on." She shook the Monopoly box in her hands and smiled. "The three of us have to bond."

"Go fuck yourself, Santos," Sully muttered beside me. While I wouldn't quite word it that way, I found myself agreeing with him. Playing one effing game of a board game where I would always end up mortgaging everything I own just to survive was not going to make me feel any better about my current living situation.

"Craaaaig, please please please." She paused for a second, as if realizing she was groveling and being annoying, and plastered on an endearing smile. Unfortunately, I was completely immune to that shit, so I just stared. Bonding... yeah, fine, whatever keeps Manny appeased. What I really opposed here was Monopoly. I mean, board games? All they do is piss people off, and then for the next week you're stepping on little pieces that got chucked across the room after they lost. What we really needed was something that could help us forget we all hated each other's guts.

Brilliance struck me, in a moment. I mean, how the hell could I forget about the little pill in my pocket, waiting, decreasing in quality as we spoke?

"You know, Manny, we should bond," I said, as I fished around my pockets for the little baggy. "With this." I brought it out and let the two admire it as I pinched the top of the bag between my fingers. Within a few seconds Sully had grabbed it and was looking at it closer in the palm of his hand.

"Dude," he said, laughing. "What did you do, like, sell your kidneys for this?" I snatched it back and ignored him. I looked at Manny hopefully, actually grinning at her for the first time in forever in anticipation of being fucked up beyond all belief. Manny stood uncomfortably in front of me, her mouth stuck in contemplation. She fidgeted, then took the seat beside me again.

"It's... I mean, it's safe, right?" She twirled a piece of hair that had fallen from her messy ponytail. "I mean, there's no chance I could... die, or anything." Part of me felt like explaining to her that there was always a chance you could die when you did drugs, but part of me just did not give enough of a fuck. I needed Manny, and even Sully, to do this with me, so it wasn't just me sitting on the couch in some trippy lonely E-hole.

"No way, baby," I told her. "You'll be right as rain."

After the astounding mathematical challenge of splitting the circular pill three ways, and after about an hour, I was in love all over again. To put it simply, Manny was right as rain. She dripped fluidly across my dingy couch, the couch that suddenly shimmered with all the glory of the golden gods of the ancient song of love in the galaxy of the... haha. I forgot what I was talking about. I like sparkles. I leaned across the coffee table and kissed her, drank from the glowing puddle of Manny, and I felt her strength pouring into me. It was all the nourishment I'd ever need.

"You're on my property, bitch," Manny yelled across the Monopoly board. "Gimme your money."

Sully, on the otherside of the coffee table, laughed wildly. "You fuck," he said. He realized that words didn't come out quite right, but instead of caring he just laughed again and spit at Manny.

I watched the bubbly ball of spit dribble slowly down Manny's cheek. She didn't even care. She giggled the same way she did when she was watching Friends and wiped it off with her hand. "You are so gross. Now pay up, you fucking top hat."

"Um, Manny," I said, stroking her hair. She was soft. Soft like light. Soft like frosting. "Sully's not the top hat. He's the iron."

Manny's eyes grew wide. I could have sworn I saw Saturn in her eyes, they were as vast as a galaxy. "Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god." Like rain, she drizzled off the couch. She fell into the dirty carpet and laughed and cried. She climbed across the coffee table, scattering rainbow paper money in every direction. "Oh my god, you guys. Sully IS the iron. He totally is." She laid across the coffee table, ruining Monopoly. The game crumbled and poured to the floor, and the colors were dancing so fast my head started hurting. She looked like a lamb on an altar, waiting to be sacrificed. She breathed heavily and writhed slowly. I wanted to fuck her.

"Tummy farts!" yelled Sully. He lifted Manny's shirt and put his mouth on her belly, spitting and blowing like a mother with a toddler. Manny laughed and started singing the words to "Hella Good." The door bell rang, hurting my already tingly head.

When I opened the door I saw J.T. Yorke standing there in an explosion of red and orange, holding a pizza in a red and orange box. The colors was so pretty and the sight so endearing that I started cracking up. I was suddenly on the floor, choking on the laughter, while J.T. the pizza man watched in bewilderment. I just leaned against the pane of the door, laughing wildly and seeing lights dance all around the apartment.

"J.T.!" Manny squealed from within the apartment. She bounced over to the door, followed by a disoriented Sully. "Oh my god you look so precious in your uniform!" She immediately embraced him and swung him carelessly. Fear struck J.T.'s eyes as he tried desperately not to lose his balance and drop the pizza in his hands.

"Yeah, um, hey Manny," he said. I recognized that look in his eyes, the look that says 'God I wish I was anywhere but here.' "It's great to see you guys. You um, ordered a pizza?"

"Aw, pizza, that's soooo sweet." She began stroking her fingers through J.T.'s hair, which made him noticeably uncomfortable. "Craigy did you order me a pizza? I love you soooo much."

I was still on the floor, lifeless, choking on laughter, barely aware of what was happening. "Um, did I? I don't know. I wish I'd ordered a pizza."

"Dude, you DID," said Sully, yanking the pizza from J.T.'s hands. "And even if you didn't, it doesn't matter. God clearly WANTS us to have this pizza."

"No, really. Did I order a pizza?"

"Oh my god, J.T., you should totally stay and eat with us! This pizza is from God, J.T. He wanted us to be together." Manny was now busily running her hands across J.T.'s red and orange-clad chest.

"Uh, I... Yeah, I can't. I've got, you know... pizzas. To deliver."

"No, dude, you totally should!" said Sully. Pizza dripped carelessly from his mouth as he spoke and he totally didn't even know it. "Manny here is like, horny as a jackrabbit. Sex show, Yorke and Santos, and.... go!" This was apparently so funny that Sully, too, found himself brought to the ground by his laughter. His mouth was so full of pizza it was a wondering he wasn't choking. I kind of wished he would.

"Wow, um, that's delightful," said J.T. Manny was now nuzzling his neck, giggling. "But yeah, if you could just give me the fifteen-twenty you owe me, that'd be great..."

"Dude, I totally didn't order a pizza. Did I?"

"Fuck her, J.T. Do it. I know you wanna. Haha, you can't, can you? Classic."

"Oh my god your hair is soooo pretty. Can I lick your ear?"

"NO, YOU CANNOT LICK MY EAR!" J.T. quickly pushed Manny off of him. Over-dramatically, she fell to the floor. How lovely. Now the three of us were one happy family again, all of us on the floor and tripping out of our minds. "I'll just pay for the pizza myself." He turned around and made a quick exit.

"Hey, man, not cool!" Sully shouted after him. A chunk of chewed pizza crust flew out of his mouth and hit me in the face. I laughed. "This isn't the hokey pokey, mother fucker! You can't just turn yourself around!"

"Jaaaaaaaaay Teeeeeeeeee!" cried Manny. I noticed she was sweating profusely. "Don't leave! Come back!" Out of nowhere, she began to cry. She curled up in a little ball in the middle of the hall way, tears mixing with sweat down her wet face.

Sully laughed. "Shit, man. She's freaking out."

Manny shivered. "I'm cold, Craig. I don't like this any more."

I crawled across the floor to her and took her in my arms. "No, shhh, it's okay don't cry."

She flinched when I touched her. She was shaking so badly. "I'm scared, Craig. I'm scared. I don't like this any more."

"Haha, she's totally freaking out."

"Shut UP, Sully, she is not freaking out." I looked into the fearful eyes of the child in my arms. Yeah, she was totally freaking out. "Okay, okay. Okay. Just... here. Let's go back inside. Come one. Let's get you some water or something."

"Shit, I LOVE this song!" Sully yelled over the Bowie of which he was increasing the volume on the stereo in the corner. "Rebel, Rebel" bounced off every surface of the house as Sully started head-banging like this was heavy metal.

I pulled her back into the apartment so no passerbys would flip and call the police, but could barely get her to move more than two feet into the room. Instead, she sat by the doorway and cried quietly, too quietly to be heard over the music. I took a second to try to soothe her, touching her face and whispering whatever I thought sounded good, but it wasn't working well. I stood up, and the sensation of walking across the carpet felt foreign to me. Even the dull brown of the tables and the rug were bright and pretty to me, and concentrating on getting the water was hard. I returned within a minute or so with a glass full of water, and plopped down on the ground next to Manny.

I handed her the glass, but her shaking hands couldn't hold it very well, so I took it upon myself to hold it in place as she tilted it back against her lips, some water splashed out onto her shirt and pants. She continued sipping, while I took her in my arms again and tried to keep her from shaking.

"Hot tramp, I love you so!" Sully screeched, now playing air guitar, standing up on the couch. I sighed. Manny had dropped the glass on the carpet as she buried her face in my shoulder, spilling its contents across her foot and the rug. I watched her chest rise and fall as she took in slow breaths, the beautiful calm after the storm. Leave it to Manny to ruin a good ecstasy high. But I couldn't be angry at her, of course. I held her. I sang David Bowie to her. I sat with her on the dirty floor and tried to make the rest of the high last as long possible. That's all I could ever do with Manny. Just wait it out.


End file.
